


Quietly

by tenienteross (ada)



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Assassin's Creed: Syndicate, Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, French Kissing, Gunshot Wounds, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 17:23:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6479407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ada/pseuds/tenienteross
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freddy patches Jacob up after he's had a run-in gone bad with some Blighters. Jacob realises he may be enjoying the stitching up a little too much.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quietly

**Author's Note:**

> In my headcanon, this is set when Freddy's already an inspector in Whitechapel but way before JTR. It doesn't really matter, though.
> 
> My inspiration for this thing came from a) doing subs for one Covert Affairs episode as part of my internship duties and b) the idea that Jacob quite enjoys a little bit of pain, which comes from a chapter of [ficthepainaway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ficthepainaway)'s fic [Jump](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5600377/chapters/12903988) (which you should all read because it's great and it's Fryeddy and <3). 
> 
> Anyway, in my dear Cassandra Pentaghast's words: this is smutty literature, and it's also my first attempt at writing it in Shakespeare's language, so please bear with me. If it doesn't sound extremely awkward, I'll be content.

Jacob holds a groan and grimaces when Freddy presses the strip of cloth on his shoulder. Above his armpit, traces of powder smell come from the bullet hole that pierced his flesh. He is sitting on Freddy’s stale kitchen and it’s past midnight. It hasn’t been a good night overall, especially the part where he got shot by a bloody Blighter during a brawl. 

He clenches his fists and Freddy throws him a concerned look. The piece of cloth is soaked in blood—Jacob’s blood. The Assassin swears, squeezing his eyes shut. He’s usually good at avoiding direct shots, leaving the fight with a few scratches. This time, however, they really caught him by surprise and he was paying the price. 

Jacob can hear Freddy’s sigh as he applies more pressure to the wound. “How did you even got shot, Jacob?” He questions, beads of sweat dripping from his creased forehead. 

“Bad timing, I guess. Some Rooks told me they had seen unusual Blighter activity here in Whitechapel,” Jacob explains in a gruff voice, trying to conceal the pain. “I came to investigate. There were more than I expected and, somehow, they managed to corner me. Wasn’t my night, really.”

Freddy frowns, staring at the hole on his shoulder and the bloodied rag. 

“You don’t say,” Freddy snaps, although from his expression it’s clear he’s worried, not angry. “You need to be more careful.”

Despite the ache, Jacob sniggers. “As you say, Mother.”

Freddy pushes—deliberately—his thumb against the rag, where the injury is, and Jacob winces and muffles a high pitched howl. 

Getting up on his feet, Freddy leaves his place in front of the chair and wanders around the small kitchen. The room is barely lit, only two oil lamps rest on the table to light the place up. Jacob grabs the soaked cloth with his right hand and mirrors Freddy, even though there’s no more blood pouring from it. Not much, at least. He feels less dizzy, but the throbbing ache in his arm and collarbone expands through his chest and back. 

He can hear Freddy opening and closing cupboards, the cluttering of some tableware and glass bottles. When he returns to Jacob, he is holding a bottle of gin, a knife and a white napkin in his hands. Jacob gives him a slightly puzzled look, smiling.

“You might want to chew on this,” Freddy interjects, handing him the napkin before Jacob can think of a witty quip. 

Jacob already has an idea of what is going to happen. He trusts Freddy completely, but he can’t help the question. “Have you done this before?” He asks, taking the napkin. 

“A couple of times… I think,” Freddy says, trying to convey confidence. His gaze lowers. 

Jacob’s eyebrows shoot up.“You _think_? That’s reassuring,” he sneers.

“Well, you came here instead of a real doctor. Be content,” Freddy grumbles, brow knitted. 

Jacob chuckles, his body filled with a bolt of pain because of the motion. When it’s calmed down, he winks at Freddy as a sign of utter trust for his abilities—but the man dismisses Jacob with a low growl and focuses on the flesh above the tattoo on Jacob’s chest. 

Freddy bends a little, placing himself between Jacob’s wide spread legs. He removes the wet cloth from the shoulder and throws it to the floor, landing with a splashing, ugly noise. Unaffected, Freddy touches the area around the wound. The bullet hole is still raw, pinkish flesh and blood spatter surround the wound. Freddy ponders in silence, as if he were analyzing the crime evidence. Then, he grabs the bottle of gin by the neck, opens it and waits for Jacob to put the napkin between his teeth. 

Jacob breathes heavily, nostrils widening. His fingers close fiercely around the edge of the chair. He’s familiar with the pain that’s to come, though that doesn’t make any easier. With a nod, he lets Freddy know he’s ready.

Cautiously, Freddy takes a firm grip on his collarbone and starts pouring gin all over the wound. It _stings_ —like a thousand blades stabbing him at the same time. He feels unspilled tears at the corner of his eyes, wincing and muffling cries of pain inside the cloth. His jaw hurts as he claws his teeth through the fabric and his knuckles turn white. 

God, he _hates_ being shot. 

Freddy takes pity on him and stops the torture, putting the bottle down on the table next to them. Jacob spats, throwing the napkin onto the floor. 

“Bloody hell, that fucking hurt!” He yells and pants, teary eyed. Tilting his head, he notices the half empty bottle. “What a waste of gin.”

“I told you,” Freddy offers, a warm smile on his face. He runs his fingers through Jacob’s hair gingerly and Jacob leans and relishes the touch, purring. “Now I need you to be very still,” he explains, grabbing Jacob’s head by each side, forcing him to meet eye to eye. 

Jacob nods and smirks. “Alright. I’m in your hands, Freddy.”

Freddy chuckles, shaking his head.

“As usual,” he remarks, planting a light peck on Jacob’s mouth. The Assassin shows a smug smile and attempts to catch Freddy’s lower lip between his, failing miserably as the man dodges him to reach the table behind them. 

When he’s in Jacob’s view again, he’s holding the knife. Jacob groans, low. He’s not looking forward to the next step either.

“I’ll do it as fast as I can,” Freddy says with a soothing whisper. He squeezes his shoulder reassuringly, and Jacob turns his head to give him a light bite in the forearm, nodding. 

Tightening his grip, Freddy wields the knife carefully and buries the tip in the wound. Jacob shuts his eyes, frowning, and flips his head backwards. He feels the steel of the hot blade inside his skin and flesh, a stir motion as Freddy tries to remove the bullet. It’s not only the sensation of the blade cutting through his injury, but the fact that it’s _hot_. Freddy had likely disinfected it with the candles, and now it is searing his raw skin. 

It probably doesn’t take a minute before the damned, metallic thing pops out and hits the floor—but for Jacob it took an eternity. He regrets getting rid of the napkin so soon, clenching his teeth together. The taste of blood fills his mouth, a bit salty and metallic. He’s more used to that, at least. 

When it’s over, Jacob gasps and slides on the back of the chair, still wincing and eyes firmly shut. Then he catches the smell of alcohol near his nose, which makes his eyelids open. Freddy is in front of him, gripping the bottle with bloodied fingers. Jacob observes a couple of red stains on his greyish shirt too. 

He flashes a smirk at Freddy and accepts the gin, gulping it thirstily. 

“We’re almost done. How are you holding up?” Freddy asks, taking a swig from the bottle when Jacob gives it back. 

“I’m thinking, next time, I’d prefer to take a stab than a shot, to be honest,” he jokes, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand.

Freddy gives him an exasperated sigh. “Next time, please, _don’t_ get hurt.”

Before Jacob can think of a comeback, he disappears into the door which leads to the bedroom—practically _their_ bedroom by this point, because Jacob sleeps more nights in Freddy’s modest apartment than in poor old Bertha. One day, Jacob even found out an empty drawer for him in the wardrobe. When he had looked at Freddy slightly baffled after the discovery, the man had answered with a shrug and a shy smile. Jacob, of course, had kissed him until they were out of breath as a ‘thank you’. 

Still, right now, he can’t really think about what Freddy is looking for there. The pain and the blood loss have spread a numbness over his muscles and mind, which is welcoming because if not it’d hurt even _more_. 

He hears some rattling inside the room.

Moments later, Freddy reappears on the doorway. Jacob squints and leans forward—not without a burning ache on his shoulder—to see what’s on Freddy’s hands. When he moves closer, he opens his eyes wide and then it hits him _what_ comes next.. 

Freddy quietly places the objects on the table: a reel of thread and a thin needle.

His body tenses in expectation, even though he’s becoming blind to more pain. 

His mouth crooks in an anxious smile. “How did you learn to sew, anyway?”

“I am a man of many talents,” Freddy explains, passing the thread through the eye of the needle skillfully. “Also, I had to be a convincing old lady in my sergeant’s days, didn’t I?”

Jacob laughs lazily, forgetting for a moment he has an open wound on his shoulder.

“Oh, yes. That’s quite the picture,” he murmurs languidly, looking at the ceiling and recalling with a smile their first encounter. 

Freddy’s eyes shift from the needle, which he has been warming up over a candle, to Jacob. “Ready?”

Jacob blows a sigh and sits properly, leaning on the back of the chair and grasping at the edges for balance. 

“I’m yours,” he replies, sultry, and lifts his chin for a kiss. Freddy rolls his eyes, chuckling, but indulges gladly. 

Their lips meet in a soft caress and Freddy cups his exposed neck, drawing circles with his thumb on a sensitive spot. Jacob sucks on Freddy’s lower lip, nibbling a bit and teasing. His nose nudges against Freddy’s cheek and he tugs the man by the collar, pulling him in closer as the kiss deepens. Their breaths get heated and wet, and Jacob slips his tongue to trace the corner of Freddy’s mouth, which brings a moan out of him. Jacob beams a satisfied grin inside the kiss and lets out a chuckle. 

However, Freddy is always the sensible one and, though reluctantly, breaks off the kiss, gasping. He whispers _maybe later_ in Jacob’s ear, to which he answers with a low grunt. 

Then he bends over Jacob’s shoulder once more. At some point, he had lit up a few more candles and, along with the pale light that comes from the windows, seems more than enough to sew the wound together without major accidents. Jacob takes a deep breath and tries to relax and get rid of the tension.

With a focused look, Freddy starts to stitch up the raw wound. Jacob feels the sting of the hot needle piercing through flesh, followed by the thin thread. It’s painful, but more bearable than what had come beforehand. Freddy doesn’t hurry, but he regularly glances up to check on Jacob. He gives him a nod, and decides to squeeze his eyelids shut.

The throb and stings are constant, although he’s getting used to the sensation. There’s a quiet pang every time Freddy pulls the needle in and out, along with a strange tickling that runs through his whole body and builds up down his abdomen. 

It hurts, like a soft, neverending ache but—it feels _good_ , somehow. It sends spasms and shivers through his limbs and Jacob bites his lip. When he is aware of himself again, he realises he may have moaned out loud. His trousers sure feel tighter than before, and suddenly Jacob wonders if Freddy will notice. That makes him anxious, because he’s not sure he wants him to, or—

Freddy stops stitching the wound, the needle between his fingers suspended in the air. 

He gives him a questioning look, furrowed brow. “Jacob, are… are you aroused by this?” He asks, and his eyes drift to the bulge in his trousers. 

Jacob can’t help the heated blush on his cheeks, even though he knows it’s silly and shouldn’t be ashamed. He has been well aware of the mental connection he usually makes between pain and pleasure, but he’s been shot and Freddy’s patching him up and it’s not the most convenient time to have a boner, his mind hammers. It kind of makes him feel _filthy_ , so Jacob avoids facing Freddy even though he feels his piercing glare.

“...I might?” he manages to hiss, embarrassed. “It’s… I’m sorry,” he wavers, sighing, his cheeks a bit darker. 

He may have expected a weirded out expression from Freddy, but when their eyes meet again he sees and amused smile on his lips. 

“I’ll take care of that once I finish,” Freddy chuckles and resumes the stitching, leaving Jacob speechless. Though knowing he is fine with it lifts a weight from his chest.

Jacob coughs, trying to regain some of his overconfident attitude along the way. “Is that a promise, Freddy?” He slurs, wiggling his eyebrows.

Freddy doesn’t turn his face, concentrated on the wound and the needle. But the corner of his mouth twitches up in a wicked smirk and Jacob feels a shudder running through his body. The thought makes the bulge on his trousers harden.

It seems to take forever. Jacob fidgets with his fingers, still blown by the acute pain the needle brings to his muscles. He inhales and exhales slowly, until Freddy puts a hand on his chest and tells him not to move so much. 

After long minutes, Freddy stitches up the last bit and leans in closer, cutting the remaining thread with his own teeth. That doesn’t really help Jacob to calm down and relax and _not think of all the things he wants Freddy to do to him_. 

“That’s it. It’ll probably leave a scar, but I think you don’t you mind that,” Freddy announces, stretching his arms up. 

Jacob rolls his shoulder backwards carefully and it feels strained, as if every stitch was going to tear itself apart from the tiniest gesture.

“Not at all,” he agrees, smirking. “Thank you for your services, Doctor Abberline.”

Freddy lets out a chuckle and adjusts the rolled-up sleeves around his elbows. He looks distractedly through the window on the other side, stretching his fingers. Then his glare it set again on Jacob, a small, shy grin on his lips.

“Do you require any more services, Mister Frye?” He offers in a suggestive voice, but there’s a pink hue of blush over his jowls.

Jacob feels his body reacting just to the sound of that, and glances upwards to meet Freddy with a cocksure smile. “That’s _Sir_ Frye to you.”

Freddy hides a snigger and nods. “Pardon me, Sir Frye.”

Jacob laughs and then holds up his hand, curling his index finger in an inviting gesture. Freddy obeys and kneels between Jacob’s thighs, burying his hands on the hair of the Assassin. They don’t beat around the bush and their mouths are rapidly entangled, heavy breaths and moans as they clash hungrily. Jacob licks Freddy’s lips, the hair of his moustache tingling slightly against his skin and making him giggle. He traps the lower lip between his teeth and gives him a soft bite. Freddy answers eagerly, sliding his tongue inside Jacob’s mouth. 

Meanwhile, Freddy keeps busy touching his partner’s body—his hands travel from his nape to his chest, rubbing through the black curls of Jacob’s chest hair. Their breaths hitch and they make a short pause to let in some air. 

“You need to promise... “ Freddy hisses between gasps against Jacob’s mouth, “that you’ll be quiet and won’t move, get it?”

Jacob lowers his head and nuzzles the crook of Freddy’s neck, sucking in the skin and biting. Freddy groans and plants a kiss on Jacob’s jaw, grazing the raspy stubble with his lips. 

“What for?” he laughs. “If I’m quiet, I can’t touch you,” Jacob mumbles, licking Freddy’s collarbone while his hands grab him by the hip. However, he can’t hide a grimace when he moves his left shoulder.

Freddy shakes his head, tilting it towards Jacob’s wound to underline his message. “That’s why. You move and you ruin my job. So stay quiet, please. Just…” Jacob traps his mouth again in a wet kiss and Freddy muffles inside it, “enjoy yourself this time.”

Jacob hits him with a grin and cups Freddy’s face with his good hand, kissing him all over. “That’s not the worst thing you could ask me to do,” he concedes, flashing a smile. 

Freddy’s answer comes again in the shape of a low chuckle, but remains silent—focusing all of his attention now on Jacob’s chin and downward, as he leaves a trail of kisses over his neck and Adam’s apple. He laps onto the lump with the tip of his tongue and then nibbles softly, and it’s driving Jacob crazy the more Freddy teases. His hands take a firm grip on Jacob’s legs, pressing his fingers and fisting the fabric of the trousers. As his mouth continues to move down, Freddy’s hands start to massage his inner thighs, slowly and dutifully. 

Jacob can now only see the crown of Freddy’s head and he _is_ liking where this is going. Freddy raises up a bit, kissing and tracing with his lips the black ink of the tattoo. Jacob moans and feels Freddy’s fingers closer to his crotch, his thumbs buried in the curve of his hipbones and his tongue twists around one nipple. 

Panting, Freddy leans back a bit and takes a few gulps of air. Jacob gives him a hungry look and smiles—he _loves_ seeing Freddy like this, all sweaty and swollen lips and cheeks flushed red. And what Jacob loves even more, is he being the _why_ behind it. Ignoring the pain and Freddy’s orders, he bends his body forward and tries to catch Freddy’s lips in a mouthful kiss. He fails, as Freddy places a hand on his chest and makes him lean back again on the chair. 

“Jacob…” he cooes, a hint of a mocked threat. But Jacob enjoys the sound of that thinly veiled menace and remains quiet, a smug smirk on his lips. 

Freddy grants him a quick kiss and then goes back, straightening his stance between Jacob’s spread legs. His hands crept up, circling his fingers around the waistband. Jacob swallows hard and stares at Freddy, lustful. His hips twitch, expectant, and Freddy starts to unbutton the trousers, taking his time, and Jacob is sure he is doing it purpose—which is frustrating, but it’s also turning him on.

Jacob struggles not to produce an obscene grunt when, finally, Freddy gets his trousers open and, lifting down his underwear, frees Jacob’s already hard cock. It’s a relief after the tightened pressure, but Jacob doesn’t have much room to think straight—because Freddy grips firmly one hand at the base of his length and, without hesitation, closes his lips around the head. His tongue licks and twists around the veined flesh, pulling heavy groans from Jacob’s mouth. 

Freddy sucks him down, bobbing his head up and down first at a quiet pace and then slowly increasing it—and the faster he goes, Jacob’s breathing becomes more agitated. Freddy works the rest his cock with his hand, and the wetness and warmth of Freddy’s mouth sends shivers through Jacob’s body. He doesn’t even remember he was shot barely a few hours ago—his eyes, half lidded, fixed on Freddy’s head buried between his legs. He kisses the tip and his underside, moist and heated, dragging heavy moans from Jacob.

He’s shuddering, his hips quiver and Freddy uses the right amount of teeth around his cock as he sucks him down, making Jacob heave desperately. He holds up his right hand gingerly and cups Freddy’s neck, running fingers at the base of his hair. He doesn’t push his head to change the pace—it’s _perfect_ , as Jacob’s constant groans indicate and Freddy understands. He just rests it there, rubbing circles around his nape. He feels Freddy’s skin bristle at the touch and smiles, self-satisfied. Then Freddy buries his tongue in the slit and Jacob has to bite his lower lip to avoid a scream. He can feel his cock down Freddy’s throat, his inner cheeks throbbing and tight around it. Inadvertently, his hips thrust and Freddy sinks his cock deeper, muffling a low groan.

He draws back to catch some breath and glances upwards, his eyes watery and glistening under the candle lights. Jacob tightens his grip around Freddy’s neck and bends his torso enough to steal a kiss from his swollen, moist lips. He tastes of the sweaty and salty precum traces, but he wipes Freddy’s lips clean and he replies with a hitched sigh. Once again, smiling, Freddy separates their mouths and, pressing a hand on Jacob’s chest, makes him lean back on the chair.

Jacob soon feels the welcoming warmth of Freddy’s mouth over his cock again—his lips and tongue playing and curling teasingly at the head, lapping and sucking in gently but hungrily. His fingers wrap around him, brushing his thumbs and fingertips on the base. Jacob shudders and shivers, thick growls coming from his dry throat, and he’s sure he can’t take it much longer. His whole body is radiating heat and his hand closes tightly around the base of Freddy’s bare neck, as his mouth and tongue and fingers work Jacob up deftly. 

With a slight thrust and a soft pull from the hair of his neck, Jacob warns Freddy—but he ignores him, and Jacob lets out another choked whimper as he flips his head backwards, arches his back and feels the blissful orgasm shake every fiber of his body. Pressing his fingers around Freddy’s neck, Jacob comes inside his heated mouth. Freddy doesn’t waver and sucks slowly, swallowing as much as he can and giving lazy licks up and down with his tongue before drawing back for air. 

Jacob’s sight is blurred and he is heaving, but he catches the glimpse of a smug smile on Freddy’s face. He helps Jacob through the last waves of his orgasm, wrapping his fingers around him again and stroking until Jacob’s body stills on the chair with a string of muffled moans, his head hanging idly with a sheepish smile. 

Jacob feels filthy and messy and _great_. He glares with half closed eyes at Freddy, whose partially unbuttoned shirt has extra stains now and there’s a general disheveled look over him that Jacob really appreciates. He feels engrossed by the sight of Freddy wiping his mouth clean with the forearm, tousled hair and reddened face. After a few seconds of taking in some fresh air, Jacob stretches his arms and buttons up his trousers—taking advantage and leaning on Freddy, who is sitting breathlessly on the floor. 

He buries his nose where shoulder and neck meet and pulls him in closer, grabbing at the front of his shirt. Jacob kisses his cheeks and the corner of his mouth, and Freddy kneads lazily at Jacob’s thighs and knees. 

“You know, after this,” Jacob hums, still panting, “I might start enjoying getting shot at.”

Jacob laughs and Freddy rolls his eyes in exasperation with a muffled groan. 

“Then you might want to consider changing your doctor,” he snaps, but there’s a calm, happy smile on his lips. Jacob traces it with his fingertips, almost intoxicated.

“Still have to pay this one,” he interjects, lifting an eyebrow. 

Freddy chuckles, circling his fingers around Jacob’s neck. “Is that a promise?”

“You bet,” he answers, shooting a charming smile.

And before Freddy can add anything, Jacob shuts him up with a long, sleepy kiss.


End file.
